Tellius Stands
by Frog-Lizard
Summary: Frog: AU-A shade of Tellius you maybe have not seen before. Where laguz control the land, leaving beorc to slavery or to scavenge along the fringes. Heroes are born, but perhaps not in the shade you would expect. And those you never expected to save anyone, might find the propensity for heroism spring up within them as well. -Currently a one-shot series.
1. Prologue

A/N: I do not own the Fire Emblem franchise ;)

I'm on an AU kick lately, and about two months ago it spawned this. Alas, I've taken too many projects lately for me to devote as much energy to this as it deserves, so for at least the time being, it's going to be a one-shot series of glimpses into this new version of Tellius. On the plus-side, this means I am very open to requests and suggestions for this series. I've figured out where most of the characters fit in, I just don't have a solid plot to tie them all together.

Anyways, without further ado, here is the prologue to explain the premise ;) Enjoy!

**Prologue**

We have all heard the tale's of Tellius. Of the battles fought for rightful thrones, and wars waged in the name of peace and harmony. Of mended bridges between the intelligent beorc and the powerful laguz, despite a history so flowing with hate.

But what if things had been different?

What if time and wars once unsung changed the course of history? A fragile balanced tipped, the results nearly shaking the goddess from her sleep. Where once the laguz were pushed out and enslaved, the reverse became true for the beorc. Scattered and unable to stand up to the superior strength of their shape-shifting counterparts, the beorc nation of Begnion fell before Crimea and Daein could even become a dream.

In this unfamiliar and ever distorted reflection of the Tellius we thought we knew, the birds and beasts are the new masters of the land. Gallia extends to the north and east to the Ribahn River, leaving but a small sliver of trees to the herons of Serenes. Phoenicis takes the southern peninsula, flight permitting their wide-spread settlements built over the top of beorc villages and towns. The southern islands now belong to Kilvas alone while Goldoa remains as aloof and uninvolved from the world as it always has.

And far to the north, in lands uncomfortably cold, a stronghold has risen. An unrecognized nation of the last free beorc. Nevassa.

This Tellius is different, that much we have established. Very different, and yet, somehow, unfallen. Yes, Tellius still stands. But do not believe that our beloved heroes have not come to be. Fate has still brought their hearts to beat, just perhaps not in the shade you first thought. Even now a frightened princess is fleeing north, carrying the heavy burden of impending doom on her shoulders.


	2. Innocence: Mist, Gatrie

A/N: I do not own the Fire Emblem franchise ;)

**Innocence**

Even on the precipice of Nevassa's infamous winter, the city streets were warm and humid with a constant flow of human and livestock bodies. The crowds moved like a flock of starlings, parting and shifting as one organism, adjusting to activity or trauma with a flow that could not be matched anywhere on Tellius.

It took a certain level of courage to weave through these streets, but Mist had been born here, and it was here that she spent every hour of daylight, delivering herbs and checking on her mother's house-bound patients until her legs were numb from running. She went through shoes quicker than a traveling merchant and knew every street and alley like the veins that ran over the back of her hand.

"Evening Mist," she almost tripped at the unexpected interruption to her rhythm, but smiled nonetheless as the gate guard offered a friendly wave.

"Good evening to you too, Gatrie," she jogged over, thankful for any excuse to catch her breath, but especially when that excuse was an old family friend, "Are you well today?"

He shrugged, his heavy armor clanking in the process, "Pretty bored, really. But my shift's almost over, thank heavens."

"Will you be coming to the mess hall for dinner?"

"Does Shinon still have an arrow dug deep in his rear?" he grinned at her giggle, "Who's cooking tonight?"

"Probably Oscar," Mist mused, "I can't help out tonight, not with this recent epidemic."

"Probably Oscar then," Gatrie agreed, "The epidemic really that bad?"

"Well yes and no, the biggest problem is how fast it's spreading, and keeping a lot of folks in bed for a few days. But so far it doesn't seem to be fatal."

"I'm sure in no small part to your dedicated care," he gave her a wink and she chuckled again. If Gatrie could, he would always go out of his way to make a lady laugh. She had appreciated that about him, more so as she grew older and began to see the more grim realities that surrounded them. Yet, there were still some things that even a teen growing up in the last truly free beorc city on the continent could be innocent of.

"Do you suppose sub-humans ever get sick," Gatrie mused, completely honest in his query.

"I don't see why they wouldn't," she shrugged.

"Well good. The world could use less of the-"

"Gatrie…"

"I don't expect you to understand yet."

"_Everyone_ says that," she put her hands on her hips, "I'm still not convinced. Nothing they could do—"

"Fine, fine. Have it your way," he interrupted, clearing his throat, "I guess it's no harm done."

Mist gave him a curious look, shrugged and regained her smile, "Well I'd better get going. Stay safe and see you soon?"

He chuckled, "Of course. See you around Mist!"

The guard waved until she vanished into the crowds. Then he slowly let his smile drop as he settled back into his station.

"She's lucky she's never lost someone to them," the other guard who had watched the exchange in silent amusement, state softly. Gatrie nodded.

"A little innocence isn't going to hurt her at this point. It's nice to see someone who still believes there's good in the world…or even believes in the Goddess for that matter."

His fellow guard, Nolan, looked at him from the corner of his eye, "What do you believe."

He hung his head, "At this point…I'm not sure what I believe anymore but…I am willing to do whatever I can to keep her believing."

A scoff was heard on the battlements above, "Of all the things you could have to fight for, you choose _that_ one?"

Gatrie's thick armor made it difficult for him to look straight up, and so he was forced to back up a few steps before a wisp of crimson hair came into view. Shinon was always the rain on every party it seemed. Not that the knight minded much, he knew the sniper was a dedicated member of the guard. If anything, the man was Mist's polar opposite; jaded by suffering and intimately aware of all the misdeeds a sub-human could be accused of. He was a wretched, spiteful man, but as previously stated, a committed one. Few had the nerve to take as many guard shift's as he did, or offer to join as many raiding parties on outer Gallian settlements.

And so, it was with no difficulty that Gatrie was able to smile up at his bitter companion, "I thought it sounded quite poetic, actually."

Nolan snickered as the sniper rolled his eyes, returning his attention to the distant horizon, "I just hope you don't go out of your way. She'll have to learn eventually."

"Of course. All children grow up in time."

Nolan gave a nod of agreement, "I still remember the first time I was directly under attack by sub-humans. Still just a lad then and oh how it changed my perspective," he sighed, "Seems like a long ways off now."

"Yeah…" Gatrie looked off distractedly, "It hits us all eventually. Either we meet their ferocity first hand, or they steal away someone dear to us. I only wish that weren't the case."

"We all do," Nolan acquiesced, tilting his head just enough to give Shinon a side-long glance. The sniper ignored him.


	3. Leave a Mark: Ena

A/N: I do not own the Fire Emblem franchise.

Now just to forwarn you all, this is where I'm going to start warping the characters. In order for this idea to work, I've had to turn several beorc characters into laguz (as you will see next chapter). But it wouldn't exactly be fair for it to only be that one-sided, and so a few that were originally laguz have also been changed ;)

**Leave a Mark**

"You think you can get away with sassing _me_, do ya? Like to try and make me a fool?!"

"Sub-humans _are_ fools, I'm just helping you write the definition."

They dared not peer into the doorway of their master's home, but one would have to be numb and deaf not to hear the resounding smack from within. Ena shuddered as the body of her fellow slave could be heard crashing to the floor. Across the doorway, Zihark gave her a slight look of concern, silently asking if she would like to leave and have him pick up the pieces when their master was finished. It was a tempting thought, one she would play with a little longer.

Some almost chaotic cackles broke from inside, "You call yourself a tiger? You hit like a heron…"

Again the young beorc woman flinched as their master released a mighty roar, this time his violence accentuated by the breaking of earthenware. She and Zihark subconsciously pressed themselves further into the wall when the horrible sounds finally ceased. All they could do now was hope their friend would know to keep her mouth shut, assuming she wasn't already dead.

With a snarl, their master stormed out the door, almost missing the fact that his beorc slaves had been there to witness. Not that he especially cared.

"You two," he hissed, whirling on them, "clean that mess in there! I don't want to see a speck of human blood on the tiles once I return!"

"Yes master," Ena bowed her head obediently, as she had been raised to behave from the minute she was born. Zihark, on the other hand, only gave a half-interested nod as he dared to look into the doorway to see exactly what damage had been done.

The tiger laguz growled, transformed and ran off into town, likely to the arena's to blow off some steam. It was considered bad form to murder one's slaves, after all the humans were far weaker than their laguz masters. If a laguz wished to kill a beorc, they could go to the arena's, where slaves convicted of various crimes (including just the dislike of the masters') were thrown out to be battled and slaughtered for the enjoyment of the bloodthirsty masses. Ena tried not to think about it.

Once she was sure he had left, she ducked inside after her silver-haired companion, and could do not but sigh at the sight that met her eyes.

Oh it was a mess alright. It seemed their master had broken most of the room's pottery in his fit of rage, not even sparing the plant-life and leaving soil and leaf debris strewn all over the floor. This was a mess for them to clean indeed. But priorities…

Zihark was kneeling next to a woman's prone form, half beneath a collapsed end table with a deep gash on her forearm. For a moment Ena feared the worst until their fellow slave coughed and rolled onto her back with a distressed groan.

The silver-haired man raised an eyebrow down at her, "What kind of mess have you gotten yourself into this time, Petrine."

Even as he spoke, he was pulling a small satchel of healing herbs hidden within the tattered rags that served as his clothing. Ena followed suit, kneeling on their friend's other side and removing some bandages torn from their bedding out of the sleeves of her more nicely kept dress.

Petrine folded her hands over her midsection, blinking from behind a bloody nose and looking far too pleased with herself, "The usual."

Zihark shook his head, "Do you have a death wish?"

She coughed again as he took Ena's bandages and tucked some of the herbs into the folds before wrapping them around her wounded, "You're one to talk. Once that sub-human finds out you've been stealing medicine for me of all people, you'll be in over your shiny little head."

"If it's at the price of saving another life, then I'm willing to pay."

"How sentimental…" she muttered dryly.

"It's really not all that different from what you're trying to do," Ena mused, earning a curious look from both of her companions. She promptly elaborated, "You both want to do something worthwhile. To be worthwhile is to leave something behind, something to be remembered by. A reason to keep moving forward, yet also a reason to accept your defeat when the time inevitably comes. For Zihark, he wishes to leave a mark on the hearts of his fellow slaves," the silver-haired man smiled slightly as he returned to his work, "And you…Petrine, you want to leave a mark that hurts. Something that will dig deep into the master's heart, and eat away at him long after you're gone. The mark that you cannot be broken… and maybe give a few bruises along the way."

"Never have my own thoughts sounded so poetic," Petrine chortled.

"I think the master hit you on the head a _little_ harder than usual this time," Zihark muttered as he went about his work.

Ena sighed, "There are worse things he could have done."

A grunt of agreement was her only response and she watched the man hurry through the rest of his hasty first aid, both of them always checking the door to make sure the master hadn't returned earlier than expected. Once she was sure Petrine would be fine, and Zihark prepared to help the taller woman back to their small quarters, Ena set to cleaning up the mess.

Alone in the front room of their master's house, she allowed herself to become lost to thoughts she could only safely think alone. Of how she secretly envied the bravery that drove Zihark and Petrine to act the way they did. For she too wished to do something worthwhile, something to be remembered for. She was determined to find this something.

And once she did, perhaps she could leave the greatest mark of all.


End file.
